


Everything carries me to you

by Anderseeds



Series: Hellsing works [8]
Category: Hellsing
Genre: (But they really just enabled them), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Biting, Come Eating, Consent Issues, Enemies to Lovers, Forced Marriage (by circumstances), Hand Jobs, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Marriage, Public Sex, Religious Guilt, Rimming, Ritual Sex, Rough Sex, consummation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23836123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anderseeds/pseuds/Anderseeds
Summary: “Not theirs,” said Integra, irate. “Ours.”“Ours?”Integra glanced over her shoulder, her gaze flittering between Anderson and Alucard.“A union between two others of great power.”Alucard’s sudden burst of laughter gave Anderson a profound sense of foreboding.Alucard and Anderson get married for the greater good.
Relationships: Alucard/Alexander Anderson, Takagi Yumiko/Heinkel Wolfe
Series: Hellsing works [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622206
Comments: 14
Kudos: 111
Collections: Id Pro Quo 2020





	Everything carries me to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LuciferxDamien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuciferxDamien/gifts).



> So, I made two exchange fics! 1) There were some wonderful prompts among Lxd's Hellsing requests, and 2) because I had more time than I needed, so I thought I might as well!
> 
> Hope you like them, Lxd!

“Have we made any progress?”

The soldier Maxwell was addressing wasn’t able to disguise her anxiety. Even before she’d answered, Maxwell was sighing and slumping over his desk, his head cradled in his hands.

“Not a great deal,” the woman said, her gaze downcast. “We’re continuing to track the plague demons, but we’ve yet to locate the relics they’ve stolen, and our attacks are having minimal effect.”

Anderson listened raptly to their conversation from his corner of Maxwell’s office. He was in the process of wrapping a wound on his ankle, which was healing slow through sheer exhaustion. The situation had escalated rapidly since the night he’d been called out to protect His Most Holy, and it'd been days since he’d last seen a bed. The pope was still alive, courtesy of Anderson's quick arrival, but most of the people guarding the pope had been ensnared by the plague in their efforts to protect him.

From the office they were holed up in, one could see the hoard of mindless thralls that had been made of central Rome’s citizens. They were so concentrated at the entrance to Vatican City that it was impossible to leave through normal means. Unlike ghouls, the plague didn’t kill its victims, nor otherwise render them beyond help, so arranging a mass slaughter to clear the city wasn’t an option, and not being able to harm the thralls severely limited Iscariot’s capacity for action. They weren’t used to needing to tiptoe around civilians – and hostile ones, at that – in order to address a problem. Worst still, the thralls weren’t weak; they struck harder, moved faster, and had some degree of intelligence, which made them almost impossible to evade for the average soldier. It was only Anderson, with his ability to teleport great distances, that managed to venture close to the enemy without encountering any resistance from the thralls.

“I’m prepared to attack again with my men, if you permit it,” said Anderson, dropping his pant leg down over his ankle, obscuring the wound. It would be gone soon. “I’ve had them gather shields from local police stations. We’ll force them back so it won’t be me alone.”

“What difference would it make?” said Maxwell. “You’re our best soldier and he was able to repel you. I don’t think extra numbers would make much difference.”

“I have faith in my students’ ability to help me with this.” Anderson stepped closer, undeterred by Maxwell’s comments. “We have to do something, Maxwell, and lacking access to our relics, I don’t see what other options we have.”

Maxwell ran a hand down his face, exhaustion etched into every line. He, too, had been awake for several days, and he didn’t have Anderson’s regenerative ability to help him through the sleep deprivation. “If we just had the damn nail, then maybe...” He ran his fingers up through his hair, making a mess of it. “This is your fault, you know. You had the opportunity to ensure the safety of the relics and you screwed it up.”

Anderson pursed his lips. “None of us knew they were after those. We were busy protecting the pope.”

“A lot of good that’s done us!” Maxwell cried.

“Hold your tongue,” Anderson snarled. “You may be my superior, but I won’t have you demeaning the importance of His Most Holy!”

“Oh, don't you dare _father_ me,” Maxwell snapped back. The other people in the room exchanged discomfited looks, though none appeared to want to step in and remind them of the urgency of the situation. “I know you wouldn’t speak with such insolence to someone in this position you hadn’t had a hand in raising. I wasn’t demeaning the importance of the pope, in any case. I was criticising you for your failings!”

Anderson’s jaw involuntarily tightened. It wasn’t unheard of for Maxwell to criticise him; he’d done so after their last discussion of treaty terms with Hellsing, during which he and Alucard had gotten into a brawl, but it was the first he’d yelled at Anderson in front of other people, and the first he’d been so unreasonable about his demands.

“You weren’t aware of what they were after either.”

“It wasn’t _my_ job,” said Maxwell.

"It wasn't my job either!" he said. "It was the intels job, and I still wouldn't blame them for this."

"You should have realised," Maxwell insisted.

“Fine,” Anderson snarled, throwing up his hands. He could see no amount of reasoning was going to get through Maxwell's obstinance. “If you’re so inclined, you can file an official punishment for me later for not instinctively knowing the job I was assigned to wasn’t my only concern. Until then, we have more pressing things to concern ourselves with, Your Excellency Maxwell.”

Though it was used contemptuously, Maxwell seemed mollified by the use of his title. They were rarely so formal with each other. "I’ll be sure to do that. For your insolence, primarily, so don’t get clever about it, Anderson.”

He didn’t get clever, as requested, but he did cast Maxwell a dry look before retreating back to his corner. He’d barely dropped into his chair before familiar red-clad arms emerging from the wall compelled him to leap back up, bayonets slipping smoothly into each hand. Next came Alucard's head, torso, and loosely-held guns, and it was only Integra slamming her way into the room a moment later that prevented Anderson from engaging Alucard in battle.

Alucard was grinning, but it was a vigour Anderson didn’t share. It was hard to enjoy the presence of one's nemesis when your country was in danger of becoming a hotbed of demons and thralls.

“If your little spat has finished, we need to talk,” said Integra, exuding such command that none of the soldiers dared prevent her from approaching Maxwell’s desk.

“How did you get in here?” asked Maxwell, stunned. “We’ve blocked every entrance!”

“You can’t block the skies,” said Integra. “We’ve used one of you roofs as a landing pad. None were particularly suitable, but any damage will be paid for at a later date.”

Maxwell spluttered. “Damage-!?”

“You’re facing the same problem as us,” Integra pressed on, speaking over Maxwell’s spluttering. Anderson couldn’t help but admire that tenacity. “And they’re going to converge, shortly, unless we do something about it.”

“He’s reached England?” What little of Maxwell’s face had been spared stress lines became engulfed in them. “I take it your Alucard hasn’t had any luck, then?” he asked, casting his eye over the vampire. Anderson did the same, regarding Alucard with suspicion.

At his stare, the vampire lowered his glasses, fluttered his lashes, and curled a lip, which Anderson hadn’t the faintest idea what to make of.

“You know the answer to that, Maxwell. I wouldn’t be in this place of my own volition, and you would have at least tried to kick me out by now if you weren’t facing a similar predicament.” Integra came to a stop before his desk and crossed her arms. “And it isn’t _he_. It’s _she_.”

Maxwell gave a derisive scoff. “Our informants were clear on the gender. We even have photos.”

“There’s two of them is what I’m saying, Maxwell," said Integra, exasperated. "One here, one in England.”

A palpable hopelessness spread throughout the room. They’d been struggling to deal with one plague demon, and now there were _two_ rampaging across Europe? They didn't even fully understand what ‘them’ was. Not a vampire, that was for sure, but most definitely aligned with hell, and this wasn't much help in narrowing their race down given humanities limited exposure to the contents of hell. For what they were doing, Iscariot had decided to categorising them as ‘demons’, but they didn't know if that was what they really were.

If Maxwell’s hair hadn’t already been silver he probably would have started sprouting grey hairs before their very eyes.

“What,” he said slowly. “Did you mean by ‘converge’?”

Integra glanced out the window, at the writhing mass of thralls below. “They’re going to consolidate their power through a union. They’ll- get married, in a manner of speaking.”

Maxwell frowned. “Get married...?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Integra repeated. “The customs won’t be the same as human ones, obviously. They’ll have greater power and a further reach with their abilities once they’ve combined them.”

“How far?” asked Maxwell, voice breathless with apprehension. “Across both England and Italy? Further?”

Integra spoke her answer plainly. “They could overtake the entirety of Europe in a few weeks.”

Anderson very nearly swore, holding his tongue only because of their location. One couldn’t speak obscenities in the holy city. Apparently Maxwell didn’t share this sentiment, as he heard the man muttering something scathing under his breath before he stood from his seat.

“If you’re here, there must be a reason for it,” he said, his voice harried. “If you have a solution, out with it. We’re clearly working on a time limit.”

While Integra appeared none too happy with Maxwell’s impertinence, she still answered. “A union.”

“Yes,” said Maxwell, face pinched with distress. “You’ve already made that clear! We’re covering how to stop it now!”

“Not theirs,” said Integra, irate. “Ours.”

“Ours?”

Integra glanced over her shoulder, her gaze flittering between Anderson and Alucard.

“A union between two others of great power.”

Alucard’s sudden burst of laughter gave Anderson a profound sense of foreboding.

* * *

Anderson agreed to the wedding. He agreed to it unhappily and reluctantly, but he agreed to it. Someone had to wed in place of their enemies, and it only made sense that he and Alucard be the ones to consolidate their power.

But putting them in wedding gowns felt a bit much.

“It needs to feel legitimate,” Integra explained, which was exactly what Anderson didn’t want to hear. He didn’t want to think of his union with his nemesis as legitimate. He wanted to do it, defeat their enemies, and forget it ever happened, which was looking increasingly like an outcome he wouldn’t get.

The outfit he was swathed in was long and white and had gold trimmings. It wasn’t unlike a chasuble, just thinner, longer, and with more floral patterns rather than religious symbolism. It thinned out further towards the ends, which undulated like waves with each movement – pretty, but Anderson was in no position to appreciate that. It was a small consolation that he didn’t end up having to wear a wedding veil as well.

Being that he clothed himself in his shadows, Alucard got to choose his own outfit. He had to make it just as extravagant as Anderson’s, the sort of thing that drew one's eye, but he got to choose both his colours and his style and so ended up with something more akin to what a medieval suitor would wear. Lots of black and red, some furbelow. A rather handsome two-piece suit, which Anderson would have preferred himself had they the time to arrange something better. But they didn’t, so it was the gown he ended up heading into the city with.

They wore cloaks to obscure their clothes. They didn't want to give their opponents too much of a heads up, least they decide to fast-track the union.

“Don’t kill any civilians,” said Anderson as they neared their destination.

“You said that before we left,” Alucard reminded him.

“It bears repeating. I know what you’re like, vampire.”

Alucard quirked a lip, reaching into the folds of his cloak to withdraw a gun. “Considering we’re about to get married, I should hope so. I wouldn’t want my fiancé to be ignorant of the kind of man I am.”

“You’re using those terms to annoy me,” said Anderson, angry red rising on his cheeks.

“You really do know me so well!”

If they had time following the ceremony and battle, Anderson was going to throttle Alucard.

Their conversation ceased as they ascended the steps into Florence Cathedral. It was a wedding venue most could only ever dream of, and here he was about to get married within its stunning, intricately decorated walls. To his damned nemesis, of all people, so the beauty couldn’t have been more wasted.

Their opponents had taken liberal advantage of the space provided by the Cathedral by filling it with their thralls. Beyond the mass of restlessly moving bodies, a man and a woman were clasped tight together and speaking sweet nothings into each other's ears, the display so tender and sincere that it was startling to witness. Slick black shadows rose up about their feet, running together, intertwining, and then collapsing in on themselves. Anderson took the sight to mean they weren’t far off completing the wedding. A few minutes later and they might not have been able to stop them.

Upon seeing them, the man withdrew a sword from a sheath attached to his belt and smiled wide and wild. The woman was quick to follow his example, turning the shadows encircling them solid and shaping them into a series of jagged points. Neither seemed troubled by the interruption. Probably found the whole arrangement enjoyable, like a pre-wedding party.

The man's long blond hair whipped about him as he strode toward Anderson and the candles encircling the altar flickered at his departure. Those seemed to be an element of the union. They would have to be careful not to knock them over, but Anderson didn’t get the opportunity to warn Alucard before the man was upon him.

“You return, human,” said the beast, driving him away from Alucard with a swing of his sword. Despite the lack of wind in the cathedral, his coattails fluttered behind him as though caught by a breeze. “If you want to play this game again before my wedding, that’s fine by me. I’ll be pleased to have you among my attending thralls!”

“I didn’t realise I’d made such an impression, freak!” He sent a barrage of bayonets at him before quickly glancing across the cathedral to watch Alucard approach the altar. His steps were slow and languid, far too casual. He didn't seem to be taking this serious at all. But then, that was standard behaviour for the man.

During his periodic glances, Anderson noticed the woman didn’t leave the circle of candles, instead sending a wave of jagged shadows at Alucard and slamming him into a set of pews, snapping one in half. Anderson grimaced at the damage inflicted on such beautiful constructs.

The sword grazed his clavicle, cutting at an angle, and Anderson just barely managed to avoid damage to his gown. As much as he disliked it, he wouldn’t reduce their chances of success by letting his gown get torn apart. Integra wouldn’t have put him in it were it not an essential element (or he hoped so, anyway). He took care to keep several feet between him and the demon as he advanced on the circle of candles, keeping one eye on Alucard’s battle. Or his struggle, rather, as Alucard didn’t seem able to penetrate the circle. Those candles must form some sort of barrier.

They needed to get the girl to venture out, which meant a different tactic was necessary. 

“Alucard!” he boomed. The woman glanced over at him, eyes narrowed, and turned her weapons fractionally toward him. “Alucard, get over here, strike him-!”

Before he’d even managed to finish his demand, Alucard had surged across the room to body slam the man into the ground, sending debris flying (and drawing a furious cry from Anderson, who wasn’t looking forward to explaining the hole in the floor to His Most Holy). As the demon rose up to strike back, Anderson sent a flurry of bayonets at him, catching him in the shoulder and chest, sending him dropping to the floor again. He wasn’t grievously injured, but he did appear pained by the assault.

“Playing dirty then, are we?” He caught himself on a pew, dragging himself upright. “Petunia, my darling. It's your turn.”

A roar erupted behind them. Anderson barely managed to turn in time to see a congregation of thralls and jagged shadows coming for him before Alucard was upon him, throwing himself over Anderson, covering him in thick, undulating shadows that took the brunt of the damage. Or he thought they did, anyway. He couldn't be sure, because it was dark and cold and the world beyond was muffled beyond intelligibility. This dark, vast space was what Alucard had inside him? He could see no end to it; maybe there wasn’t an end to it, and Anderson shivered to think of that.

He’d managed to count to eight before Alucard rose up again, freeing him, and he registered with dull shock that they were within the circle of candles now. He hadn’t even felt them move.

“What the hell was that?” he asked in a hiss.

Alucard pulled him upright, turning him to face their glowering opponents. “It’s best you don’t know, priest.”

Maybe he was right about that, but Anderson wanted to know all the same. He would ask at a later date, when they weren’t in the process of saving the world.

Anderson straightened and grinned wide and pleased at the demons, who were prowling back and forth in search of a way in, muttering to each other in a soft, sibilant language that had little in common with any languages Anderson knew. A useful little feature, this circle. Anderson had been envisioning a very harried, mid-battle sort of wedding, but the circle ensured they could proceed without interruption.

“Anderson,” said Alucard as he unlatched his cloak and let it slide off his shoulders. It disappeared before hitting the floor. “We can gloat once this is done. Take my hands.”

It was with some reluctance that he removed his cloak, but with visible pleasure that he threw it toward the man and woman, who hissed and snarled at his cheek. With that out of the way, he tentatively set his hands in Alucard’s and drew in a deep breath to prepare himself. Mentally _and_ physically, since he needed to follow Alucard word for word if he wanted this to work.

Alucard started to speak in that same, sibilant language as the demons. Each word came slow and elongated so Anderson was able to repeat them accurately, though he still found it difficult to enunciate certain words. It was maintaining eye contact that proved the most difficult part, though. These were such peculiar circumstances that he didn’t particularly want to look Alucard in the eye, but Alucard had emphasised the importance of – ugh – _intimacy_ in the union, so he had little choice but to stare Alucard dead on even as his face began to warm and his palms became clammy.

Anderson had never so much as held hands with a woman in a romantic context. He’d been on the track to becoming a priest at fourteen and started seminary school at fifteen. He hadn't had the time, nor inclination to try a relationship, and now he was in his sixties and getting married to his nemesis. It was such a bizarre situation that he was shaken and flustered in a way he hadn’t been in years.

The warm edge to Alucard’s smile wasn’t helping matters.

They spoke the last few words, fell silent, and Anderson glanced slowly about for some indication they’d done the union properly. Nothing had changed of their surroundings, and Anderson didn’t feel any different. Despite his best efforts, perhaps he hadn’t repeated the words well enough. It was a language with which he was entirely unfamiliar, so it wouldn’t have been surprising.

“Again?” he asked with a faint grimace.

“No,” said Alucard, looking uncharacteristically sober. “You did well, priest. Better than I expected, even. We’re just not done.”

Anderson slowly removed his hands from Alucard, crossing his arms. “Which means _what_?”

“Which means-”

“You aren’t going to finish this,” announced the woman - Petunia - with pearls of laughter. “You aren’t going to finish! You want to hear why, padre?”

Anderson eyed Petunia with suspicion. “I won’t trust anything as foul mouth a mouth as yours has to say.”

“You two,” she pressed on, undeterred. “Need to consummate your union. Passionately, with genuine feeling, and I know what you priests are like about sex!” Her voice was brimming with glee. “I don’t think you even _like_ each other. Am I right? Is your attempt just as hopeless as it _looks_?”

Anderson covered his colouring face with a hand before turning back to Alucard. “She’s lying, isn’t she?” he asked, voice desperately hopeful. Needless to say, he wasn’t enthused with the idea of having sex with a vampire, in a cathedral, before an audience of demons and hundreds of thralls. He’d never considered what he’d like for a first time, because he’d never intended to have a first time, but he knew this was perhaps the worst possible circumstances under which he could lose his virginity.

“She isn’t lying,” said Alucard, which was the answer Anderson had been anticipating but desperately hoping against. He buried his face further into his hand. “I'll make it pleasant, priest,” continued Alucard. “We can still finish this.”

“We hate each other!” he snapped, much to the pleasure of the demons.

“And that’s passion,” said Alucard as he closed the space between them, slipping his hands to Anderson’s face, cradling it gently- too gently, like a lover, and Anderson had complicated feelings about that. “There is genuine feeling and passion already between us.”

“And if it doesn’t work,” said Anderson. “I’ll have had sex with you for no reason.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” asked Alucard with a growing smile.

Anderson scoffed and took a deep breath, steeling himself. He wasn't about to prioritise his comfort over the well-being of billions. “What do we need to do, then? Do I need to, or do- do you-?”

“I’m at the forefront of this, so I need to fuck you,” said Alucard simply.

“We couldn’t just do something with our hands...?”

Alucard snorted. “You don’t even have a specific thing in mind for what we could do with our hands? No, priest.”

Anderson's cheeks coloured even further. He was right, though; he didn't have a specific thing in mind. “Oh, shut up.” There seemed little else they could do, so he undid his pants, hitched his gown up high above his thighs, and gestured Alucard closer. “Get on with it before I change my mind.”

The curl of long fingers around his waist made Anderson jump, but he remained determined, even pressed back when Alucard pulled him toward his crotch. He tried not to think too hard about the fact they had an audience, instead focusing his attention on Alucard and what the man was doing behind him. The shift of his fingers against his skin, the bulge pressed against the clef of his ass, the sound of a zipper being drawn down. 

“We don’t have any lubrication except spit,” said Alucard as he pressed the hot curve of his cock against Anderson’s entrance. Anderson swallowed thickly at its solid presence. It was hard to imagine that fitting comfortably inside him. “This will hurt.”

“I can take bullets, so I can take this.” He didn’t much care if it hurt. That would give him something other than general mortification to focus on.

A cool slickness dripped down between his ass cheeks, sliding over his entrance before a finger pressed the slick smoothly into him. He tensed at the intrusion. Entirely involuntary, and he was grateful when Alucard waited for him to relax before pushing his finger in right up to the knuckle. Just that one finger felt like so much. He wasn’t sure how such a small space was going to accommodate an entire cock.

Alucard leaned down, lips cool against the nape of Anderson’s neck. “Relax, or it’s going to be unpleasant for both of us.”

That was a lot to ask of a priest about to be fucked by a vampire in front of hundreds of gawking thralls (would they remember seeing this? He hoped not). He set his hands on his knees and tried to unwind his muscles so Alucard could proceed without too much difficulty. The man began pressing idle kisses across all visible skin, which was surprisingly helpful. Anderson always had enjoyed affection, and the fact he got it so rarely meant he tended to melt when it was received.

More spit was added and an additional finger slipped in beside the first, further slickening up his insides. The stretch of them was forgotten when those fingers roved over a sensitive bundle of nerves Anderson had quite forgotten existed. They created a pleasant tickle, at first, but it grew so rapidly into a surging pleasure that Anderson had to grab onto the altar to steady himself. His fingers turned white knuckled around the marble and his thighs shook as Alucard applied persistent stimulation. He couldn’t stop himself from moaning, an odd sound he hadn't even known he could make.

The demons were shouting something. He was only faintly aware of that as Alucard kissed and licked his neck and fucked him with his fingers. His cock was hanging hard between his legs, pre-come staining the front of his gown. If not for some lingering reservations about propriety he would have started stroking himself. Fortunately, Alucard had no such reservations, and he drew out his fingers to instead fist his hand around Anderson's cock. Anderson gasped and shook at the contact.

“Lean on the altar,” Alucard murmured into his ear, his free hand twisting into the back of Anderson’s gown to ensure he didn’t fall as he turned them. Anderson shakily complied with the order, lowering himself until one of his elbows was braced on the smooth, marble surface. He reached back with his free hand to grasp Alucard about the thigh, fingers trembling around a handful of his trousers.

Anderson curled over him before guiding the head of his cock into Anderson. He was met with no resistance, which Anderson had all of a few seconds to be surprised by before a shallow thrust drew a cry from him. It should have been painful. It did ache a little, but it didn’t hurt, not the way he’d expected it to. Alucard’s cock gliding into him, filling him up and pressing at his prostate, just felt nice, like Alucard was slotting in exactly where he was meant to. When Alucard started into a steady rhythm, he was only vaguely aware of how much shouting, drooling and moaning he was doing. The stoking of his cock brought him to finish within a few minutes and the practised strokes to his prostate brought him to hardness again before he could catch his breath.

He’d sullied the cathedral floor. And he didn’t care.

Releasing his engorged cock, Alucard’s hands curled instead around his wrists and wrenched him back into each snap of his hips. Anderson rocked on his toes, held up now only by Alucard. It was an effort to keep himself upright, overwrought as he was, but he wanted to take in as much as Alucard as he could, as deep as he could, so even as his legs shook he held himself in place. 

When the vampire growled in his ear and filled him with thick, sticky strings of come that slid down the insides of his thighs, it came as no surprise when he continued thrusting into Anderson. They needn’t have continued; they had more than fulfilled the terms of the union, but they _wanted_ to. The candles surrounding them flickered and rose, and looking blearily past them Anderson could see Alucard’s shadows expanding and enveloping the room. Their audience of thralls crowed in distress and the demons looked wildly about. The exits had been covered. There was no escape for them now.

“You missed your calling,” Alucard murmured, practically jack-hammering into Anderson now, the slap of flesh reverberating obscenely through the cathedral. “Who would have thought a priest could make such a fine slut.”

“Sh... shut...” With how dazed he was, he couldn’t find it within himself to finish his protest. And his newly discovered libido told him he didn’t much mind being a slut, anyway - something he would undoubtedly be embarrassed to remember later.

At some point he found himself draped over the altar with his ass raised high into the air and his chest skating across the marble. His gown had been pushed so far up his back that there was little hidden from their audience now, and his trousers and underthings had fallen down around his ankles. He’d come again; maybe twice, maybe three times, he wasn’t counting anymore, and when Alucard finally collapsed atop him he felt wonderfully full in some ways and empty in others. Alucard pressed an idle kiss to his shoulder as he lay atop him, otherwise motionless while he recovered his bearings.

“Do you feel it?” he asked, taking a needless breath.

What ‘it’ Alucard was referring to became apparent when he registered a foreign power swelling within him. It didn’t feel quite right, not like the union had. It’d dug too deep into his private recesses, taken hold of his core, filled him to capacity, and Anderson was left with the distinct impression that all of this was permanent, simply something he would have to get used to. 

When Anderson prepared to rise from the altar, Alucard stopped him with a hand at the small of his spine. He’d been prepared to tell him they hadn’t the time for another round when he felt Alucard’s cool tongue sliding up the inside of his thigh, cleaning away the seed there. With slow lathes of his tongue, he cleaned away every drop he'd spilt, applying himself so liberally to Anderson’s entrance that Anderson soon found his legs quaking again. When Alucard finally withdrew, Anderson wasn’t able to help a low whine.

“We came here for a job, priest,” Alucard reminded him, chuckling.

Anderson cast a grumpy look over his shoulder before pushing himself upright. “You did that on purpose and we both know it.”

Alucard didn’t say anything to that, merely slid the tips of his fingers fondly over Anderson’s nape before turning to their opponents. Or quarry, rather, as they were desperately scouring the room for an exit not blocked by Alucard’s shadows. They found none. There were none.

Anderson smoothed down his gown and stepped beyond the candles, which went out as though caught by a harsh breeze. “Let's see how long it takes to turn these two into smears on the floor.”

* * *

Once they’d consolidated their power, the demons didn’t take long to fall. A vampire and a regenerator were a formidable force; even more so than Anderson had been anticipating, though perhaps he should have expected it given their direct links to heaven and hell. The two powers were surprisingly complimentary. Their similarities enhanced their preexisting abilities, while their differences made up for anything the other was lacking. Apart, they had been powerful in their own right. Together, they were nigh unstoppable.

Anderson had accepted the permanence of their union. He’d accepted it the minute it had happened. There had been some intrinsic understanding that what they had done was irrevocable once the union had been complete. When they’d found themselves unable to part for long, it became even clearer how deep this bond went, and so Iscariot and Hellsing had to make adjustments to accommodate their unique situation. Which – after a solid week of scrambling for an appropriate place to house the most powerful two beings on earth – led them to sharing a house a five-minute walk from Ferdinant Lukes. It wasn’t the only house available to them; Integra had arranged one for them as well, but the agreement was that they would rotate between the houses every month, and Maxwell had somehow managed to get Integra to agree to their first month being spent in Italy.

With Alucard spending most of his time in the basement brooding and drinking blood bags, frequently making a mess (which Anderson cleaned up because he couldn’t stand having empty blood packets strewn across the floor), they didn’t see each other as often as two people living together normally would. Once a day was the standard. Usually in the evening, since that was when Anderson returned from work. Alucard liked to welcome him back home before returning to the basement, and it was rare they exchanged words beyond that. Alucard’s frequent absences should have made their arrangement easier to adjust to. Instead, the quiet of the house just made it impossible to get comfortable. Anderson was accustomed to living among children. They were always loud and incessantly knocking at his door, waking him up in the early hours of the morning for this and that. There was never a quiet moment. But there was here. The quiet moments here never ended.

The worst part about the silence were his wandering thoughts. It was inevitable that he would think of what happened in the cathedral. He just hadn’t expected his thoughts to be so damn carnal. It was a shock to be sitting in the lounge room, idly thumbing through a book, and find himself thinking about sex with Alucard. Thinking about how well Alucard had filled him, how practised the strokes to his prostate had been, how strange and cold but somehow wonderful Alucard’s cock, tongue, fingers and teeth had felt. He thought of how the vampire had looked too. Dishevelled, eyes half-lidded, maybe the slightest touch of pink to his cheeks, and long black hair slipping down his shoulders. A handsome sight. Not a word he’d ever thought he would apply to a vampire, much less Alucard.

“What does this union entail, exactly? Do we need to get intimate again?” he asked Alucard one quiet evening, trying to be casual. He was both apprehensive and eager about what answer he might receive.

Alucard stared at him a long moment before responding. “We can resist further intimacy, but I’m available if you’d ever like to indulge.”

Anderson scoffed and glanced away. His sense of propriety and pride prevented him from jumping upon the offer. “I’m still a priest, despite this damned union.”

“Whatever you prefer is fine by me,” said Alucard. “I’m happy to accommodate whatever my priest needs.”

The use of ‘my’ was more appealing than it had any right to be. He heard Alucard laughing when he hastily left the room.

After this conversation, he noticed the vampire seeking his company more often. Not so much that it was intrusive, but enough that it was noticeable. It was always small interactions: Alucard handing him meals, telling him to go easy on the children at Ferdinant's, suggesting new books for him to read. Little things that made the house feel more homely. He appreciated them. He was also annoyed at himself for appreciating them, but as the days passed, his resistance did wane, and he accepted Alucard’s idle affection just as he had every other new feature of his life.

* * *

It was three weeks into the arrangement when Heinkel came by for a visit. Anderson ushered her out of the cold and prepared her a cup of coffee. Dark, with three spoonfuls of sugar, just how she liked it, and then he sat her down in the cosy lounge room before the fire. The Vatican had arranged a relatively nice place for he and Alucard to live.

“So,” said Heinkel, her voice soft and awkward. “How… how are you settling in?”

“As well as can be expected,” said Anderson, equally as awkward. He traced his fingers along the rim of his own coffee mug. “We’ve been out on two jobs since this all started. Some vampires were working alongside the demons, gathering information on our respective organisations, and we located and dispatched them all.”

“Makes sense,” said Heinkel. “I mean, a lot of vampires are vaguely aware of you, even if they don't know your name or organisation. How many titles do they have for you now?”

“I can think of about a dozen.” One corner of Anderson’s lips curled. “There’s probably more, but I don’t pay that much attention to their babbling before I dispatch them.”

“I’m partial to ‘Killing Judge Anderson’,” said Heinkel with a smile, relaxing into her chair.

Anderson laughed. “That’s a forthright one.” And about what he’d expected her to favour. Heinkel never had been one to mince words.

“Better than ‘Angel Dust Anderson,” said Heinkel wryly. “Did you know that means-?”

“I do,” he interrupted, huffing. One of his opponents had been kind enough to shout that information at him in the middle of a battle. A shame, since he’d found the name flattering. “But we’re not in America, so we can ignore that meaning.”

“Whatever you say, Father.”

Heinkel idly sipped her coffee, humming in appreciation. She often said Anderson was the only one who knew how to make it just right. Not that Yumie didn’t try, but she didn’t drink coffee, finding it too bitter, so her efforts to replicate Anderson’s methods always fell a little short.

After a companionable silence, Heinkel spoke again. “There’s been a troubling rumour going about that I’ve been meaning to clear up with you.”

Anderson sighed. He wasn’t surprised. Odd bedfellows was great for generating rumours. “Go on. You know you can come to me about anything.”

“And I’m always appreciative of that, Father.” She restlessly bounced a leg, taking another sip of her coffee. “It's about what happened that night at the Cathedral. Some of the people who recovered have some vague memories of what happened there.”

Anderson stiffened.

“One of His Most Holy’s guards said they recalled, uh…” She hesitated. “I’m sorry to bring it up. I just wanted to make sure you're alright, if it’s true.”

“What exactly do they recall?” asked Anderson, anticipating the worst.

“You know.” Heinkel’s cheeks rapidly turned red. “Consummation.”

Anderson slowly brought a hand up and buried his face into it. This was not a conversation he wanted to have with someone he had raised. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have at all, really, but especially not with someone he considered a daughter.

When he didn’t respond, Heinkel leaned across the coffee table with a sympathetic look.

“I’m here if you need to talk, Father. I know I’m not an ideal person for such a conversation, but you won’t receive any judgement from me, nor excessive pity you might get from those with less tact.” She cleared her throat. “Tact is, er, not really a strong suit of us Iscariot’s.”

Even the current level of pity felt too much.

“It’s alright, Heinkel,” he said, speaking into his palm. “It- it _really_ is alright, which is a bigger problem than what happened that night.” 

“Oh,” she said, and then with greater emphasis, “Oh!”

Anderson set his mug on a coaster and continued to drive his face into a palm. “So you don’t need to worry about my well-being, because it's _alright_. Too alright.” Which, at the very least, lessened the blow of knowing several people were aware of his and Alucard's consummation. It was hard to be appropriately troubled by that when you were a hunter in an amicable marriage with a vampire _and_ periodically thinking of engaging in further intimacy with said vampire.

“Permit me a little worry, Anderson,” said Heinkel. She took a deep breath. “That’s… it's okay, that you're... alright. I said I’m not going to judge you, and that extends to your, uh. Relationship with the vampire- with Alucard as well.”

“I’m not sure you could call it a relationship.”

“I mean…” Heinkel's expression pinched. “You _are_ married now.”

“I suppose that’s true,” he reluctantly admitted. “But you won’t catch me calling him my husband. It’s just absurd. A priest and a vampire-!” He scoffed with all the strength of a bullhorn. “Hard to think of a worse union.”

“Are you sure you aren’t unhappy?” asked Heinkel.

“I’m not,” he said, hurrying to reassure her. “I’m fine, Heinkel. This is just so contrary to the church’s teachings that it's difficult to adjust to.” He sighed into his fingers. "The fact the church has sanctioned something as ridiculous as our _marriage_ should have made this easier, but it hasn't. It's just make things more complicated. If they'd only-!" His jaw worked, but no words came out. He didn't know how to proceed. To verbalise his struggle was too difficult, too much, so he was grateful when Heinkel broke the silence.

“I can only imagine how difficult this must be, Anderson,” said Heinkel. After a moments pause, she added, “Regardless, this hasn't impacted our relationship. I want you to know that.” Another pause, her gaze trailing away. “And married couples are _supposed_ to be intimate. You being an unconventional couple doesn’t make that an unreasonable part of the relationship. The church might not want to know about it, but they've accepted the marriage and the consummation, so it's not a far stretch to imagine they'd... tolerate this. And I think God would... might understand.”

She was trying so hard to be supportive that Anderson didn’t have the heart to tell her she was doing the opposite of soothing his worry. He dropped his hand into his lap and slumped back into his chair.

“I’d rather get my mind off it," he muttered. "Why don’t you tell me what tasks Maxwell has set you on?”

“Oh, of course,” said Heinkel, frowning at the change of topic. “I suppose I should be reporting to you anyway. Alright, well…”

* * *

Anything Heinkel knew, Yumie eventually found out. The two were terrible at keeping secrets from one another, so they rarely bothered to. Clearly Heinkel had divulged the happenings at the Cathedral at some point, because the next he saw Yumie, she greeted him with a fierce hug and near-shouted assurances. 

“Nothing could ever change how I see you, father!” she insisted. “Nor would your relationship with that vampire change how _any_ of us students feel about you. We respect and love you, and we understand the necessity of it.”

Anderson didn't have her confidence. His students admired him, would even lay down their life for him, but this entire arrangement with Hellsing had been difficult for them to swallow, and that was without the knowledge of Anderson's failing resolve. He could be sure Yumie and Heinkel's opinion of him wouldn't change; he couldn't say the same for the rest of his students, nor the rest of Iscariot.

All the same, Anderson smiled and curled an arm over her thin shoulders. Deceptively thin, he should say, because she packed immense power in that build. “Thank you, Yumie," he said, fondly. "I love you too." 

Her voice lost some of its strength as she pressed on. "There's something else I wanted to mention," she said. "We - me and Heinkel - we might understand how you're feeling, at least to some extent, and I've heard commiseration helps."

"Are you going to explain how you understand?" asked Anderson, cocking his eyebrows. 

“Well," she began, her voice stumbling, as it often did when she was nervous. "Our... our relationship isn't standard either, so we've have had some trouble on that front too."

Anderson'd had some suspicions about Yumie and Heinkel's relationship, though this was the first they’d confirmed it. Catholics were, understandably, discreet where unconventional relationships were concerned, but things had changed so much and so rapidly that their usual reservations seem to have been set aside.

“Yumie, you know it’d be a cold day in hell before I had a heart to heart about this," said Anderson. "But you also know I’m grateful you’re offering.” As a means of reassurance, because she still looked terribly nervous, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, careful not to get any of that wild hair in his mouth. He was practised at it. He'd been pressing kisses into her hair since she was the height of his knee. “And I’ve had a strong suspicion about your relationship with Heinkel ever since I saw your clothes in her closet a year or two back. The girls and boys at the orphanage make the same mistake, on occasion.”

He was close enough that he could feel the warmth gathering in her cheeks. “I thought we were really careful.”

“You were.” He dislodged himself from her, placing his large hands upon her shoulders. She looked up at him, wide-eyed and flustered. “But working at Ferdinant’s has left me with a habit of noticing certain things.”

Being observant was an important skill when you had several dozen kids under your care. It was best to assume every child had a death wish, because they were very good at getting into mortal danger the moment you glanced away. Replicating dangerous things they’d read in books, climbing to the highest branch of a tree, sticking metal into power sockets - there was no end to the sort of trouble a child could get themselves in, and once they reached adolescence, then there were things like drugs and smoking and sex to worry about. After decades of child rearing, Anderson knew a great deal about every one of his children, even things they didn’t know he was aware of.

"Useful skill to have in general." A smile rose back on Yumie's lips, small and tentative. "If you don't want to talk about it, could you at least tell me how you're feeling? Heinkel said you were alright, but-"

"And she's right," said Anderson. "I'm comfortable, which she might have also mentioned was a source of concern. But I'm still comfortable despite that."

"But I know you're worried about what the church and God thinks," said Yumie quietly. 

"Less than I should be," said Anderson, and he was surprised by the honesty of this remark. But it was true, wasn't it? He should have been clawing out of his flesh to escape the union; he should have been rallying the church in a futile effort to free himself, but he wasn't. In fact, come to think of it, he'd always liked Alucard, had always respected him and eagerly anticipated their encounters, and _that_ hadn't been appropriate either. Maybe he had been the best man for the union for reasons beyond strength.

A little more of his resolve flaked off. It was as painful as it was relieving. 

"And any worry I have is being dealt with, Yumie," he continued. 'Battered down' would have been more apt a description. "That's all I can do about it, because even if I _wasn't_ happy, this is how things are now." 

Yumie raised a hand to one of his, curling her thin fingers around his broader ones. "As long as you aren't miserable, Father," she said. “It goes without saying, but if that Hellsing dog ever does something you don’t like-“

“I’ll be the first to express my displeasure," Anderson interrupted.

“Of course." Yumie gave a soft, melodious laugh, so unlike the malicious ones she brought into battle. "But leave a few scraps for me and Heinkel.”

At that particular mental image, Anderson gave a laugh of his own, his sobriety momentarily eased. Yumie had always been good at lifting his mood. “I doubt I’ll need to rend him into pieces for you two to share. He’s been behaving.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows rose. “No trouble at all?”

“Nothing beyond his standard inappropriateness. Comments and the like.” And even those were subdued. “He’s been…” He bit the tip of his tongue as he considered an appropriate adjective. “Pleasant.”

Yumie blinked owlishly at him. “A vampire is being _pleasant_?”

“I’m just as shocked as you,” said Anderson. "But I wouldn't be calling the situation agreeable if he hadn't been pleasant."

“I’m glad, just…” Yumie trailed off, making a helpless gesture with her hands.

Anderson saved her the effort of coming up with an explanation by giving her one last squeeze and stepping away. 

"Don't worry, Yumie," said Anderson, his voice gentle in a way it was with few others. "As outcomes go, this isn't the worst one."

* * *

When they transitioned to their England house in early March, Anderson found himself cooking his own meals. More for pleasure than practicality since Anderson could have subsisted on pre-cooked meals without sacrificing his health. The process of finding a recipe, gathering the appropriate ingredients, and preparing them all was relaxing; a good way to wind down after spending his day performing charity work- something he was filling his time with now that he didn’t have Ferdinant Lukes to go to. The night jobs came slow, as they always had, and they didn't take long to do now that he and Alucard were able to extend their abilities over several miles and detect the presence of hell bound creatures. More than ever, the extinction of vampires within Anderson’s lifetime was looking feasible.

Without meals to ply Anderson with, Alucard switched to gifting him old, exotic books. Presumably ones that had been saved through Alucard’s longevity and stored somewhere dark and hidden in the Hellsing estate. They were yellowed and dog-eared, dusty and frail, but Anderson was thrilled with them all the same, happy to be holding a piece of _history_ in his hands. Considering how much history literature was among the piles of books he had strewn about his room, it wasn’t a surprise Alucard had figured out he was a history enthusiast. Alongside everything else, he found himself thoroughly and reluctantly endeared to the man.

Alucard had also become more tactile recently. His touch lingered. It lingered on his shoulders, the small of his spine, his arm, and his neck. If Alucard had an excuse to touch him, he took it, and Anderson found himself getting progressively more affected by the closeness, to the point that he would jump when it was initiated and his face would warm if they remained together too long. He could have asked Alucard to stop, and he was certain the man would have, but the contact was pleasurable enough that he didn’t want to relinquish it. He tried to pass his enjoyment off as being the consequence of their union, but he knew full well it had just as much to do with the fact he just liked being touched by Alucard.

(And maybe just liked Alucard _in general_ ).

It was after a full three months of being subjected to those idle touches that Anderson gave into the urge to indulge. He took an ascot from Alucard’s basement, one of the few made of physical material, and lay down in bed with it twisted between his fingers. Grasping his cock, he began to stroke slowly and with clear inexperience. It was rare he masturbated. Self-pleasure was considered a sin by Catholic doctrine, so arousal had always been little more than a source of frustration for Anderson. When he had touched himself intimately in the past, it’d been for practical reasons, to rid himself of a visible bulge or provide a doctor with a sample (something that had been used to confirm his sterility following the regenerator trials). He had otherwise managed to refrain. He wasn’t a man who let his base desires control him.

Until now, evidently.

He was bound to a vampire for the rest of his life, so he reasoned that he couldn't fall much farther. His chastity had already been thoroughly compromised. He would pray for forgiveness all the same, but he would do it in the knowledge it was unlikely to be granted, and nor was it deserved.

He traced a thumb over a vein on the tight surface of his cock and breathed in harshly through closed teeth. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. He had to be careful to take things slow, take his time. He was only going to permit himself to come once. He didn’t want to make a mess.

He brought the ascot to his lips, letting them brush over the smooth material while he languidly stroked himself. They smelt faintly of Alucard. Gun oil, metal, and earth. Having seen the interior of Alucard's coffin while rousing him for work, it was clear that was where the earthy smell was sourced from. Alucard must have slept with the ascot on, may have even masturbated while in there, and that thought made Anderson give a soft moan. With each stroke, each surge of arousal, his thoughts got more disjointed and obscene, fragments of perverse desires and fantasies rising to his consciousness. The memory of the night at the cathedral was at the forefront of everything.

He stretched his legs out, toes digging into the soft material of the mattress. His hips rose with each stroke. His back arched to accommodate the movement, leading his head to thump into the pillows. He practically saw stars as his pleasure raced for the precipice and he had to force himself to slow down so to prevent a premature finish.

“My my, priest,” came Alucard’s voice from the foot of the bed, prompting him to draw himself upright so fast that he smacked into the headboard. “I was wondering what you were doing in the basement earlier. This is better than anything I could have imagined.”

Anderson stared at Alucard, wide-eyed, trying to conjure up a response, but all he managed was a strangled noise while he fumbled to cover himself.

“It’s daytime,” he stuttered. “You don’t come out during the day!”

“I do when I hear people wandering around my basement,” Alucard purred, his weight dipping the bed as he crawled onto the mattress. “I approve of your use of my ascot, don’t you worry.”

His face couldn’t have been redder. “How long were you watching?”

“A few minutes, at least.” He came even closer and Anderson drew his legs up to his chest. The ascot remained trapped between his fingers. “You don’t have to satisfy yourself with your hand. I can give you the real thing.”

“I don’t want…” It was a blatant lie, so he didn’t bother to finish it. “I shouldn’t,” he said instead, releasing the ascot to coil his fingers around his skin-warm cross. “There’s no practical purpose for it.”

“There wasn’t any practical purpose for this either and you still did it.” Alucard closed what little space remained between them, his hands coming to rest on Anderson’s knees. “You’re a pious man, priest, but not that pious, and even less so now that I’ve had you. That I _have_ you.” He leaned close enough for his lips to brush the shell of Anderson’s ear. “You like being mine, Alexander Anderson. I can tell.”

Anderson pressed a low hiss past clenched teeth. “It’s that damned union-!”

“Our _marriage_ can only compel so much.” His lips moved to Anderson’s jaw and Anderson didn’t push him away. Despite his protests, he found himself leaning into the scrape of Alucard’s lips over his skin. “There it is,” he murmured, his hand slipping between Anderson’s legs. Anderson only tensed briefly before relaxing into Alucard’s touch, his thighs flopping apart as those nimble fingers found his still-hard cock. “That’s it. Open for me, Anderson.”

“You’re a bastard,” he breathed, leaning his face into Alucard’s shoulder as the man stroked him, desperately and horribly wanting of him. It would have been easier had it just been intimacy he was after. “You never leave well enough alone.”

“I don’t leave you alone, you mean.” His teeth closed over Anderson neck, and when he found no resistance he tore into it, lapping away the spill of red and kissing the skin as it healed over. Anderson brought his hands up to Alucard’s shoulders and wrapped his fingers tight around them. “And I never will,” Alucard finished, smiling against Anderson’s neck. “We are bound as one now, we might as well enjoy our time together.”

Anderson's breaths turned panting when his finish came racing up again. It didn’t take long, and this time he made no attempt to forestall it. Thick, white strings of come splashed into Alucard’s palm, and he smiled at Anderson while cleaning the mess off his glove with long swipes of his tongue. Anderson continued to tremble through the aftermaths. His fingers and toes curled, nails biting into Alucard’s shoulders. It was dizzyingly good, even better than it would have been had Anderson brought himself off, and his shame was quickly overrun by rolling warmth and euphoria.

Alucard’s lips found his and grazed over them at first, testing the waters, and when Anderson didn’t protest he pressed them together with greater insistence, delving his tongue into Anderson’s mouth. His tongue was cold. It drove a chill into Anderson, who shivered and fisted his hands in Alucard’s red duster. The daze of climax was steadily receding, and he had just enough presence of mind to kiss back. It was slow and sloppy, courtesy of this being his first real kiss, but Alucard seemed enthused that he was reciprocating at all. He licked his tongue over Anderson’s hard palate and along his molars and bit lightly at his bottom lip.

After having his fill of Anderson's mouth, Alucard drew back with a smile, leaning his cool forehead against Anderson’s heated, sweaty one.

“After that, I’m even more inclined to think lady doth protest too much.”

“Shut up,” Anderson muttered, without any strength.

* * *

He gave in. A strange way to put getting into a relationship – a proper, reciprocated one – but it was the first thing to come to mind on that day Alucard had crawled into his bed. He’d crawled in more times than Anderson cared to count since then. Intimacy had been incorporated into their routine, and once Anderson had overcome the worst of his reservations, helped along by Yumie and Heinkel's unwavering (and sometimes exasperating) support, it didn't seem such a heinous thing. Just like everything else, it quick became comfortable.

Having Heinkel and Yumie drop by their Rome base felt like a new height of domesticity for them, and even more so when they retired to the bedroom after like overwrought grandparents. Anderson lay down in bed with a book while Alucard got himself comfortable on his lap, as was often his wont.

"By the way," murmured Anderson partway into his book. "What _is_ that black space you have inside yourself? I never did ask."

"A void that holds all the beings I've consumed," said Alucard. "Over four centuries worth."

"Four centuries," echoed Anderson, his brow furrowing. That was far older than he'd assumed Alucard to be.

There was a significant pause before Alucard spoke again. "Anderson," he said, shifting to look up at him. "Why do you think I go by the name 'Alucard'?"

Anderson gave his lips a nervous lick. He had a bad feeling about what this was leading into. "To... to mock the popularity of Dracula while serving 'Hellsing'."

"No, Anderson. I _am_ Dracula."

Anderson dropped the book he was holding.

Well, maybe it wasn't a _completely_ comfortable arrangement.


End file.
